a -^ 




The thanks of the author are due to the 
publishers of Lippincott's Magazine, Field 
and Stream, Waverly Magazine and other 
periodicals for their generous permission 
to include in this collection the verses 
which first appeared in their pages. 



Copyrighted J 910 by 
W, Dayton Wegefarth. 



] lovingly dedicate this collection 

of my earliest verses to 

MY MOTHER. 






CCI.A278481 




If each loved heart were lost to me on earth. 

And every cherished dream in ashes lay. 
If every hope that 1 had deemed of worth 

Had passed into the night from sanguine day; 
If everything that I hold dear — my friends. 

My inmost loves, my fondest joys, had died, 
I'd thank my God, who every judgment sends. 

For e'en my failures — knowing 1 had tried. 



CULTIVATE IT! 

The future is naught but a barren waste. 
That stretches along the endless years; 

Then sow all your hopes for success with haste. 
Lest waiting should bring regretful tears. 




IT'S A GOOD OLD WORLD. 



This criticised world 

is a pretty good place. 
If you take all your woes 

with the right kind of grace. 
And learn to find good 

in your sorrow and pain. 
And to watch for the sunshine 

that follows the rain. 



I know that the world 

has a mighty blue tinge 
Oftentimes; but, my friend, 

if you just oil the hinge. 
Your door will swing open 

and let in the light 
That will put all your little 

blue devils to flight. 



In all, life is just what we make it, 

you know. 
And we reap smiles or sighs 

from the seeds that we sow; 
Then the right thing to do 

is to plant seeds of joy. 
And to smile at the heart-breaks 

that try to destroy. 



Four 





In th' morning, in th' evening. 

In th' middle o' th' day — 
It doesn't seem to matter much — 

For whenever you're away, 
I'm a-thinking, an' a-fretting. 

An' a-sighing for you, dear. 
An' my heart it just keeps aching. 

For I'm wishing you were here. 

Every minute you're not with me, 
can't seem to understand 

Th' reason you're not near to me. 
Just a-holding o' my hand; 

An' th' world grows terrible dreary- 
Loses all its warmth an' cheer; 

It's a-cause I'm mighty lonesome. 
For I'm wishing you were here. 




Five 




She gave mc a rose; the rose was red. 

As red as her lips divine; 
She gave me her love with the rose, she said. 
And vowed 'twould live when the rose was dead. 

] took what ] thought was mine. 

The rose soon died; I placed away 

Its leaves in an old-rose jar. 
The love that she said was mine for aye, 
1 hid in my heart, so that Time's decay 

"Would never its beauty mar. 



Six 



The years sped on; the rose, in its grave. 

Lived on in a fragrant death. 
But naught remained of the love she gave 
When the rose was red. No, nothing, save 

A mem'ry — an old-rose breath. 





Once a maid named Mary Anner 

Learned to play the grand planner — 
Played it with a feverish ardor 

Morning, noon and night; 
'Till the neighbors came and pleaded 

That one good night's rest they needed; 
Begged her to desist her practice 

'Neath the moon's soft light. 



Mary Anner was offended — 

Claimed her very life depended 
On the scales she thumped at midnight 

Like a bloomin' Turk. 
Something terrible was deflected. 

When her mistress, unexpected. 
Came from Europe, chasing Mary, 

Back to kitchen work. 





Ever since my days of childhood. 
Greater joy 1 have not known. 

Than to hear you say you love me. 
Claiming me for all your own. 



Love like ours will live forever. 
Nurtured by the hand of time; 

So we'll pray that God may bless it — 
This sweet love of yours and mine. 





] think of you, dear, in the morning. 
When the sun rises over the hill. 

To bid the fair world to awaken. 
To glorify each rook and rill. 



1 think of you, dear, when the sunshine. 
Maturing the day by it's glow. 

Mellows the afternoon breezes 
That kiss and caress as they blow. 



Ten 



] think of you, dear, in the twilight. 
When stars dot the heavens so blue; 

'Tis then that 1 see in the gloaming 
The image, dear girlie, of you. 

So you see that ] think of you always. 
From daybreak 'till darkness of night; 

And then through the long weary hours 
] dream of you, deary, 'till light. 





* 



She was crossing the muddy street, you know. 
And lifted her shortened skirts — just so, 

"When a policeman passed her by. 
"You're holding your skirts too high," said he, 
"I've a perfect right, 1 think," said she, 

"Quite so, indeed," the cop agreed, 

"And a perfect left, thinks 1." 



THE STRENGTH OF YOUTH. 

I heard a voice. 

In vibrant, ringing tone it bid mc wait. 

I named my choice. 

Impetuous youth cried out 'twould be too late. 



And so I tried. 

Spurred on by hope I faced my future's sun. 
The voice had lied, 
struck with my unerring youth and won. 



^^= 




Eleven 




] though she loved. 

And so I watched, with brave expectancy. 
And waited for the years to bring to me 
The wealth I thought was owing. 

1 thought she loved. 

Oh, barren dream! I might have known 
Her throbbing, girlish heart had grown 
Quite cold from too much waiting. 




A RESOLVE. 



1 have chosen my profession; 

an author 1 shall be. 
But I'll only write "best sellers," 

and perhaps some poetry; 
1 shall own a city mansion 

(which my standing will demand). 
And an inspiration villa 

in some far romantic land. 
A fair amanuensis 

shall write as I dictate. 
And a private secretary will 

my royalties keep straight. 
] shall meet the heads of nations 

and the aristocracy. 
And, of course, in leisure moments 

] must write occasion'Iy. 
] shall let them lionize me, 

taking all that comes my way. 
For I've chosen my profession — and 

I'm going to make it pay! 





I knew her then when her eyes were bright 
And her lips were a throbbing red; 

When her cheeks would flush with a keen delight 
At the least little word I said. 



1 knew her then when her silken hair 

"Would catch every sunlight ray; 
When her voice was as sweet as she was fair 
(1 loved her then with a mad despair) 
This maid of a bygone day. 



] know her now after fourscore years 
Have furrowed her haughty brow. 
Quite changed, 'tis true, but she still appears 
More fair to me, and her smile still cheers. 
And, O I how 1 love her now. 



Fourteen 





"Let's go a-fishin', Mary." 

"Begorry, an' let's" sez she. 
An' thin wid our rods, an' our lines an' things. 
We go to th' wood where th' brooklet sings. 

As happy as we kin be. 



"Fishin' is foine," sez Mary, 

" Indade, an' it's great," sez Oi. 
An' divil a fish '11 we ketch all day, 
A fishermon's luck, but a lover's pay,— 
Kissin' is better, thinks Oi. 





The hallway was deserted. 

There was terror in the air; 
] stood alone and trembled 

On the seven-hundredth stair; 
My throat was parched and breathless. 

And the speech ] 'd learned had fled; 
] knew my quest was hopeless 

In this " Temple of the Dead." 

'Twas but an oflice building. 

Where a grim man sat in state. 
With shears and active pencil 

To decide his callers' fate. 
The dead were budding poets, — 

Story- writers, — even worse; 
And they all took silent journeys 

In the literary hearse. 





My God I "Why is Thy wrath so great; 
What sins have 1 been guilty of. 
That Thou should sear me from above 
With sorrow and a nameless fate ? 

It seems that Thou hast dulled the skies. 
And snatched the stars from out my sight; 
E'en though I crave for heavenly light 
A lasting night my prayer defies. 

Lord, my life is naught to mc. 
My very heart is bleeding, torn. 
If love unanswered were unborn 

1 would not know its misery. 




Seventeen 




Sez Paddy Flynn t' me lasht noight, sez he: 
" Begobs, me bye, it's gettin' purty bad 
Whin wimmin folks, t' satisfy a fad. 
Air takin' jobs frim ye an' me, me lad; 

Sez Oi to ye, sez Oi, it shouldn't be." 



At thot Oi ups an' answers widout fear: 

" Indade, wid yez, me frind, Oi don't agree; 
Fer anny mon would not contented be 
"Widout a gel t' run th' famalee; 

A maid, "sez Oi," is born t' injineer." 





My strength had waned, as ray fight grew long. 

And success seeraed far away. 

1 heard no word of friendly cheer. 
The world was cold to me and drear. 

And 1 longed for the light of day. 



"When ] reached the shore of my fairy isle, 

] found the rest I craved. 

] lingered there 'mid its perfume rare, 
MChile a new-born strength displaced despair. 

And 1 knew that my hope was saved. 



1 then returned to the Shadow Land, 

But the darkness all had fled. 

The world was bathed in a wondrous 
Dispersing all the shades of night. 

My fear of life was dead. 



light. 




Nineteen 




'Taint no use t' make a fuss — 
Yo' better snuggle tight; 
'Spect I'se gwain t' play wif yo' 
All day an' half de night ? " 

"Ebenin's growin' mighty late. 

De birds am gone t' nest; 
Eb'ry thing wif eyes t' close 

Hab shut 'em tight in rest." 



"Mammy's gcttin' tired, too, 
Jes' 'cause de moon's so bright; 

Gwain t' go t' bed ma self, — 

Good-night, dear chile, good-night. 





Before you came to me, my dear, 

1 knew not what life meant. 
'Twas as a barren plain unblessed 

By Heaven's gifts; my soul, depressed, 
"Was longing for some nameless thing 

Until you, dear, were sent. 



My days were long and dreary, dear, 

] craved a love unborn. 
The swaying trees and scented flowers 

Were naught to me; to mystic bowers 
My spirit soared and ever searched 

For you, my star of morn. 



1 pray to god each hour, my dear. 

Your sweet soul to uplift; 
And ask for life, that 1 may guard 

And keep your happiness unmarred. 
This little crib holds all for me — 

Dear babe — God's greatest gift. 





Floating along in the same canoe. 
Over life's sea, all alone with you; 
Watching the shades of your changing eyes, 
"Worshiping all that you idolize; 
Catching the swift, fleeting beams of light 
To illuminate the darksome night. 
Lest it should dreary seem. 

Plucking the lilies and roses fair 
That they might crown your glorious hair; 
Chasing the cold of a winter's day. 
Making your life an eternal May; 
Praying to God, with unceasing love. 
To guide your steps from Heaven above — > 
This is my sweetest dream. 



Ij Twenty-two 





One summer night, while I wandered alone. 
Near the bank of a gliding stream, 
caught a star, as it slid to the earth 
On the shaft of a late sunbeam. 



With tender care then ] carried it ofF, 
O'er my life's rocky winding road; 

And marveled much at its wondrous light. 
As it lifted my sorrow's load. 

My days grew brighter, my nights were less 
drear. 

All the world seemed enriched by love; 
The trials of life that had burdened my soul 

Were all lost in the clouds above. 

The years rolled by, and I lived in content 
For my heart greater joy ne'er sought; 

The star that brightened my life was naught else 
But a simple, unselfish thought. 



Twenty-three 




Aw, gowan, 1 ain't a-shiverin, 

Betcher life I'm not; 
Watch me duck, here goes, ca-splash! 

Oof! It's a-1-m-o-s-t h-o-t. 



Go and look for Deacon Brown, 
An' tell him where I've been; 

Let 'im holler, 1 don't care, 
Swimmin' ain't no sin. 



L 



Aw, come on, kids, what's the odds. 

Folks won't know t'hum: 
That's the ticket, wade in slow. 

Gee! I know'd y'd come. 



Twenty -four 





On moonlit shore, beside a quiet sea 
1 built, with loving care, a castle grand; 

And brought a princess there to dwell with me 
In my domain, the fairest in the land. 

But, lo, wild waters rose and swept away 
The glistening sandy palace I had made; 

And, dreaming still, 1 saw, with deep dismay. 
My lady's picture, 'mid the bubbles fade. 




Twenty-five 




Success is not an infant born today. 

More often, in our lives it comes when age 
Has left the mind a dull and barren page; 

But having it, we chide not its delay. 

The little things we thought of small account 
When youth was ours; in deep forgetfulness 
Grow strong with time, and make for our 
success. 

Which deeply drinks at Youth's Eternal Fount. 



Twenty-six 





A man with a frown and a man with a smile 
Once met on Life's Road at the old turning stile. 
"You seem unconcerned," said the first 

with a sneer, 
"For a man who has treacherous pitfalls to fear. 
I've worried along 'til I'm worn and grey." 
And the other said, 

"You should have smiled by the way." 

"I've had many troubles, my heart has been bled; 
The joys that were mine 

are now withered and dead. 
I 'm treading this path not from fancy, my friend. 
But because not far ofF is the 

long-wished-for-end. 
I've seen aught but darkness, 

no dawning of day." 
And the other said, 

"You should have smiled by the way." 

"I know what it means," 

said the man with the smile. 
To have my heart wrung every cruel, weary mile. 
My life has meant suffering, 

my way has been long. 
But still 1 have not grown deaf to Hope's song. 
And every drear winter to me has been May, 
Because I have learned to smile by the way." 




Twenty-seven 



MORE WAYS THAN ONE 

Pat McDooin was a sailor 

whin he met swate Nora Naylor; 
It was thin he lost his head an' heart complete 
But th' maiden wouldn't listen; 

said she niver would be his'n 
'Til he owned a rig'ler Trans -Atlantic fleet. 



"Phat's th' use o' gittin' married? 

I'd hev more fcr havin' tarried. 
Sure, th' home Oi live in now is good enough ** 
That's phat Nora towld her lover; 

thin he vowed by all above her 
That he'd hustle oop an' call her little bluff. 







Pat McDooin knew he niver 

could possess a fleet t' win her. 
So he formed a plan that listened good, withal; 
Whin her dad wint blue-fish selling. 

Patsy burned his swateheart's dwelling; 
Thin poor Nora hed no home at all, at all. 



Thin th' foxy Pat McDooin 

wid a vim pursued his wooin', 
"You hed besht," sez he, 

"fergit about th' fleet." 
"Sure," sez Nora, "Oi must give in, 

fer Oi hev no place t' live in." 
So she moved t' Patsy's shanty oop th' street. 





There's a verdant strip of pasture, 
"Where the herd's in silence graze. 

And a virgin brook that flows in sweet content; 

And a h*ttle house that nestles 
From the world's inquiring gaze 

'Mid the shehering oaks 

with branches gently bent. 



It's a simple little cottage 

Of the real old-fashioned style, 
A place where dreamy fancies idly roam; 
But it's all that one desires. 

For it makes this life worth while. 
It's a spot that God 

has hallowed-home, sweet home. 



Thirty 





Never ask yourself the question: 

"Is my effort worth the while; 
Would it not be well to leave 

this task undone?" 
But remember strength is tested 

by an honest, fearless trial; 
And by effort goals are reached 

and battles won. 



TO YOU. 



Here is a thought and a wish sincere 
And a prayer for you, lady mine; 

A smile for the future, a sigh for the past- 
A toast just for Auld Lang Syne. 




ti 



\M H ^^^G 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




